are calling their mates to join them in a morning song. I wish you
could see the grass. It looks greener than green, now that the sun
is touching it. I guess somebody else is feasting his eyes on the
emerald greensward (that's quoted), for I hear a curtain rolled up
and window-sash raised, so I am going to quit this highfalutin style,
and let my pen run on as it will; but, before I forget it, I must
tell you that ever since Mr. Angus ran up to town the day he called
to inquire for you there has been a change in him. Before that he had
one of his worst attacks of depression, or dyspepsia, as Aunt
Thankful calls them; but now he seems to have made up his mind not